


Homesick

by MiteyMidget



Series: Reunion 'verse [4]
Category: Drake & Josh
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-14
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-31 19:18:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10905771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiteyMidget/pseuds/MiteyMidget
Summary: AU, Future fic. Drake lasts eleven weeks in New York before he breaks.





	Homesick

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ in August of 2008. Beta credit goes to amberdowny.

Drake lasts eleven weeks in New York before he breaks. Or, more accurately, before his band breaks.

"C'mon man, get out there and live a little. You've been moping around for months now and , for one am fed up."

Drake looks away from the churning dance floor, glaring up at his drummer. "What moping? There's been no moping."

Chuck crosses his arms and cocks his head of to the side, an 'Oh, yeah?' expression painted across his face. "This is the first time in how long you've come out with us? And you've spent the whole night staring at your cell phone. Quit pining for whatever chick you're hiding in San Diego. Or better yet, man up and do your thing."

"Do my thing?" Drake finds his lips quirking up despite himself. "I have a thing now?"

"You've always had a thing," Chuck says, rolling his eyes. "You're like The Fonze. You snap your fingers and the girls all flock. Go back to San Diego and use some of that famous Parker charm to get your girl."

"Not a girl."

Chuck huffs out a sigh, shaking his head. "Don't even try that crap on me, dude. I’m not blind, man. Don’t start treating me like I’m stupid, either."

"'S'not a girl," he mumbles, throwing his head back to staring at the ceiling. "He's really not a girl."

Silence for a few seconds and then Chuck chokes out a laugh. Drake's head whips up and he scowls at his band mate, watching as the man doubles over. "Sorry. Sorry," Chuck gets out between snorts when he sees the look on Drake's face. "It's just- God! The irony! You have no idea."

"Oh, I think I have a pretty good idea. I'm living it."

Chuck shakes his head, laughter still evident in his lopsided grin. "As hilarious as this little revelation of yours is, I still say that you need to get over yourself. So it's a dude? It's not going to make a damn bit of difference to the people who matter. Go to San Diego, work this out, and don't come back 'til you're a human being again."

"You say that like it's easy."

"Because it is easy," Chuck insists. "It's weird to be saying this to you of all people, but you need to stop over-thinking this so much. Usually you're impulsive enough to drive me to drink. I can't believe you're picking now to actually think something to death."

"I'm not that bad," Drake says, even though he knows that he really is. In the past few months, he's been very un-Drake-like. Broody and snappy and just plain unpleasant. Looking back, he's pretty sure that he owes a few people some apologies. Maybe fruit baskets or something.

"You really are," Chuck says, and there's a note of superiority in his voice that brings to mind an older sibling. He even leans over to ruffle Drake's hair. "I've already called a cab. You get on back to your apartment and start packing. Your plane leaves in a couple hours. We'll cover for you the next couple of days, but be back for that red carpet thing or your ass is mine. Got it?"

Drake jumps to his feet, fixing his hair. "I hate you."

Chuck actually has the audacity to laugh at him. "Sure thing, sweetheart. You'll be thanking me come morning."

"Sure, sure," Drake mutters, throwing back the last of his beer. Before he leaves, he throws over his shoulder, "Larson? You touch my hair again and you're a dead man."

Then he's gone out the door and on a plane to San Diego as fast as modern day transportation will carry him. By the time he's slumped into a cab on the opposite end of the country, he can just make out where the sky is starting to lighten in the east. He's just hopped over several time zones and he hasn't slept in well over thirty hours, having been forced up at a ungodly hour to do some breakfast television show. Tired doesn't even begin to describe how Drake's feeling as he's watching familiar streets fly past.

He doesn't know what he's doing, not really. If Chuck wanted impulsive, that's definitely what he's getting. Drake had a lot of time on the plane to think, sitting alone, so jittery that his knee was bouncing to a rhythm all its own. It's not the gay thing that's bothering him. No, that's always been a sort of non-issue. What is bothering him is so much bigger than that. 

The entire time he's been in New York he's been trying to force himself back into the role of the old Drake. He's stayed there, stubbornly, because he wants to prove that he can be the same person he's always been and still have Josh too. 

It's not working. Of course it's not working, because he's not the same person. He doesn't fit the mould anymore and no amount of pretending is going to change that. He can wander around to all the clubs he wants, be seen with a new piece of eye candy every night, and the only thing that succeeds in doing is making himself miserable and making Josh nervous in the process. 

That had stopped fairly early on, hence what Chuck had termed 'moping.' Drake's tired of going head to head with himself, the constant Old Drake VS New Drake death matches that go on in his head. The only things that seem to make it at all bearable are the all too brief phone calls to Josh that he sneaks between his schedule and Josh's own school day. 

Which is why he's here, pulling up to Josh's apartment complex, dawn starting to peek over the horizon. He's here because he needs to take the edge off before he goes insane or one of the guys decides homicide would be completely justifiable. Next time, he thinks as he pays the cabbie and swings his bag over his shoulder, they really need to plan for this withdrawal.

Drake reaches the front door and, unlike last time, doesn't even hesitate to hit the buzzer. He's giddy and so hopped up on airline caffeine that he thinks he could probably bounce all the way up to one of Josh's third story windows. Barring that, the front door is the only way in without a key.

There's no answer on the first buzz, or the second. Josh's sleep-rough voice finally comes after the third, distorted by the intercom. "Hello?"

"Josh, hey! It's Drake. Can you let me up?"

"Drake?!" Josh exclaims, sounding suddenly alarmed. "What are you doing here? It’s five thirty in the morning! And you're supposed to be in New York!"

"Well, I'm here now," Drake says, shifting his bag around to his other arm nervously. "Just let me up and I'll explain."

"Okay, alright."

The door buzzes and the lock mechanism releases so that Drake can enter. He takes the stairs two at a time in his haste to reach the top. He's panting by the time he reaches Josh's door, sweat starting to bead along his forehead. His knuckles hardly touch the door before it's swinging open and Josh pulls him inside. It's rather reminiscent of the last time, when Drake was hauled through and unceremoniously attacked.

Only, this time it's him that does the attacking. The minute the door is closed behind him, Drake grabs hold of Josh's t-shirt and yanks him to down to meet his lips in a heated kiss. Josh squawks, the sound muffled, and Drake takes full advantage of the suddenly parted lips to swipe his tongue along Josh’s teeth. Whatever protest Josh had intended to make leaves him as he returns the kiss with just as much vigour, his thick-fingered hands coming up to cup the back of Drake’s head.

Drake lets go of Josh’s shirt, moves his grip down to his waist to tug him closer still, snug together from chest to knee. Drake’s hungry for contact, drowning in Josh’s scent, wallowing in the little noises escaping their fused lips. 

It’s hot and perfect and everything Drake’s been craving. He wants it to last forever, to wrap himself up in Josh and never come out. It doesn’t sound like an unpleasant experience, he thinks. Forever surrounded by Josh’s warmth and his smell and his voice.

Unfortunately, his lungs have other ideas. He’s forced to pull away, gulping in great gusts of air. He takes a great deal of satisfaction in noting that Josh is panting just as hard - and he doesn’t even have the trek up two flights of stairs as an added excuse. 

“God,” Drake whispers, forehead resting against Josh’s, eyes closed. “I’ve missed this so much.”

“Me too,” Josh agrees, holding him close.

“I was going crazy.” He burrows closer, breathing deep. “You smell really good, too.”

Josh laughs. “You attacked me before I had a chance to shower or brush my teeth. My breath is probably rank.”

“Don’t care,” Drake mumbles and he’s becoming less lucid, slipping into a state that’s more asleep than awake now that he’s here, with Josh. He sways a little and Josh’s grip tightens.

“Whoa there. When was the last time you slept?”

“Dunno.”

“Time to put someone to bed, I think.”

Drake doesn’t even protest as he’s pulled into the bedroom and manhandled onto the bed. He grumbles as his shoes are pulled off, but he’s more than content to have the blankets pulled up over him. 

Josh’s alarm clock goes off before he has a chance to really sink into sleep. It’s enough for him to bleat out a barely coherent “Time for work.” Josh, now a comforting weight on the mattress beside him, merely shushes him. After that, he’s out like a light.

When his eyes slip open again it’s full light out and the alarm reads half past three. Drake groans and rolls out of the bed, grimacing at his sleep creased clothes and the taste in his mouth. He can’t even remember where he dropped his bag last night. Actually, he can’t remember if he packed his toothbrush and the last time he’d borrowed Josh’s the man had thrown a fit.

Drake stumbles out of the bedroom, still bleary-eyed and tousled. His hair is all over the place and when he rubs at his face he feels stubble digging into his palm. It's probably a good thing he hasn't seen a mirror yet, because he thinks be may have just hid back under the blankets to avoid looking at himself. He's not exactly cutting his most attractive figure at the moment.

The apartment is quiet and Drake almost thinks he's alone until he wanders into the living room to find Josh sitting on his couch, his laptop on his knees and a pile of paperwork beside him. He looks away from his screen, turns to smile at Drake and shifts his computer off to the side.

"Hey, sleepy head. It's about time you got up."

Drake rolls his eyes and flops down onto the couch next to Josh, careful not to jostle any of his work onto the floor. "Jetlag. Shouldn't you be at work?"

Josh shrugs. "Called in sick."

"You, Josh Nichols, are playing hooky?" Drake's eyebrows might just take up permanent residence in his hairline. "I never thought I'd see the day you'd do something so rebellious."

"Shut up. I'm a total rebel." Josh shakes his head, expression turning more serious. The look he levels at Drake is one of concern. "You never did explain what you're doing here when you're supposed to be in New York."

If he'd been standing Drake would have shuffled his feet. Somehow he just can't bring himself to say 'I missed you.' He goes with the next best thing. "I was going crazy. My band basically threw me on a plane and told me not to come back for a few days."

Josh frowns. "So there's nothing wrong, right? This isn't like last time when you were freaking out over nothing?"

"No," Drake jumps in to reassure him. "I think I’ve learned my lesson after that. No. I was just homesick, you know?"

The concern on Josh's face clears and he smiles again, bigger than before. "Aw, Drake. That's so sweet."

 

"Huh?"

Josh shifts closer, seemingly unconcerned as some of the paper - what looks like a pile of tests - is crumpled under him. "You're homesick and you came here. You think this is home."

"California's home," Drake protests, his cheeks burning with sudden embarrassment. "It's cold in New York and I've missed the West coast."

"You can't fool me anymore, Drake. I know your secret."

Josh is having way too much fun with this. Drake scowls at him, but can't bring himself to deny something that's obviously true, especially if it's likely to strip that smile from Josh's face. Still, he's not a complete girl. The least Josh could do is leave him with a bit of his dignity intact.

"I want to give you something," Josh says suddenly, getting up off the couch and padding into the kitchen. He comes back with a little black box in his hand. Drake's heart skips a beat when he first glimpses it, but it's too big to be holding a ring. That's really something he's not ready for.

Josh sits back down and tosses him the box. Drake catches it easily, feeling the velvet casing soft against his palm. With hesitant fingers he flips up the lid. There, nestled in the cushioned insides is a key. Just a simple gold house key.

Drake looks up at Josh, frowning. "A key?"

"Uh huh." Josh nods and he looks a little nervous now. "I figure you're here often enough it was time to get you your own key. I was going to wait 'til you were done in New York, but since you're here now it doesn't hurt to give it to you a little early, right?"

“This is a key to your apartment,” Drake whispers, eyes wide as he studies it with something like wonderment. This is big. Like, big-big.

“Yeah, uh… I mean, if you don’t want it you don’t have to keep it. I’ll totally understand if you’re not ready for something like this, but…”

“No!” The vehemence of the response takes Josh by surprise and he flinches back. Drake winces himself and softens his tone. “No, no. Josh, this is… it’s good.”

“Good?”

“Perfect,” Drake says and Josh relaxes, eyes crinkling into a grin. He leans over and kisses Drake softly, just a sweet brush of lips. And it really is perfect.


End file.
